I.

AFTER SCHOOL.

"Our content is our best having."--_Shakespeare_.


Nobody had ever told Marjorie that she was, as somebody says we all
are, three people,--the Marjorie she knew herself, the Marjorie other
people knew, and the Marjorie God knew. It was a "bother" sometimes to
be the Marjorie she knew herself, and she had never guessed there was
another Marjorie for other people to know, and the Marjorie God knew
and understood she did not learn much about for years and years. At
eleven years old it was hard enough to know about herself--her naughty,
absent-minded, story-book-loving self. Her mother said that she loved
story-books entirely too much, that they made her absent-minded and
forgetful, and her mother's words were proving themselves true this very
afternoon. She was a real trouble to herself and there was no one near to
"confess" to; she never could talk about herself unless enveloped in the
friendly darkness, and then the confessor must draw her out, step by
step, with perfect frankness and sympathy; even then, a sigh, or sob, or
quickly drawn breath and half inarticulate expression revealed more than
her spoken words.

She was one of the children that are left to themselves. Only Linnet knew
the things she cared most about; even when Linnet laughed at her, she